Guilty as Sin (47 page)

"He's an inch away from being considered an accessory. I don't care if he's connected to the pope."

"He passed a polygraph," Cameron reminded her.

"Big deal. All that means is he's devoid of emotion when he has to be. It's not a stretch to imagine that. He could pass for an android most of the time."

She turned back to the initial typed report listing Wright's former teaching positions, tapping a finger under "Penn State." "Wright and Priest were at Penn State during the same time period. It makes sense to request the NCIC reports on unsolved kidnappings and murders in that geographical area first."

"Done."

"Good."

"But if Wright's done this kind of thing in the past," Cameron said, "he's done a bang-up job covering his tracks. I haven't found a hint of trouble in his background. He grew up in Mishawaka, Indiana. His parents split when he was eleven. Father remarried and moved to Muncie. Wright and his sister stayed with the mother, who died of a brain embolism a few years ago."

"Sister?" Ellen perked up. "Where's the sister? Have you talked to her?"

"I've got nothing on her. She's probably married somewhere. Wright himself would be the only one to ask, and I can't see him giving us that information out of the goodness of his heart. I'd say the sister's a dead end, though she may come out of the woodwork now to star on The Ricki Lake Show—the siblings-of-evil-serial-criminals segment.

"Slight change of topic," Cameron said, waving a photocopy of Wright's official written alibi. "Wright states he came home for a late lunch Saturday, the twenty-second, then returned to Harris around two-thirty. They have a witness who claims to have seen Wright's Saab headed south on Lakeshore at that time.

"Now, we, of course, don't believe Wright was driving the car, because that was about the time O'Malley was attacked. But we also know Christopher Priest was in St. Peter. So who do we think was driving the Saab? Childs? The wife?"

Ellen pulled her glasses off, pushed her chair back, and stood slowly, grimacing at the tension that had settled in her back.

"We know Priest stayed in St. Peter Saturday night," she said. "Does he have anyone who can verify he was there Saturday afternoon?"

Cameron checked his notes. "He had lunch with a professor friend from Gustavus Adolphus. Time unspecified. I'll double-check."

"God, what a Gordian knot," she murmured, turning toward the window. The park across the street was empty. Downtown looked windswept and deserted. Yellow ribbons that had been tied to every light pole as a symbol of hope for the return of Josh Kirkwood now fluttered for Dustin Holloman. The posters and pleas that had been plastered to. the windows of stores and restaurants had been replaced with a fresh set.

"We have only to put doubt in Grabko's mind that it was Wright behind the wheel." Cameron walked around the end of the table and settled a hip on the credenza. "All we have to do is get him bound over for trial. It's up to the cops to catch the accomplice.

"I know. I just can't shake the feeling that Costello's got a big fat rabbit to pull out of his hat."

"Childs."

A scowl knitted Ellen's brow. "Grungy weasel. I can't wait to get him on cross and nail him for the lying little shit he is. Although I have to say, I'm hoping the police find him first—up to his ears in incriminating evidence.

"No," she said. "It's not just Childs. I know Costello. He's always cocky, but there's a certain quality to this. . . . I've been over his disclosure until I've got it memorized, and I don't see any red flags, but there's still . . . something."

"You're working too hard," Cameron pointed out. "And they're working hard to make you crazy. Between vandalizing your car and that business last night, you've got good call to be jumpy. But we've got enough to hang Wright at the hearing. Costello can't change the evidence we've got." He gave her a smile. "Aren't you the one who said 'Don't let him get to you'?"

"Was that me?" She forced a laugh. "What was I thinking?"

That she knew Tony Costello, knew all his tricks, all his secrets. But now the ground had shifted beneath her feet—or Costello had pulled the rug out from under her. Again. "Our mutual friend Mr. Brooks . . . Small world, isn't it?" In her mind's eye his image faded into Jay's, dark eyes turning translucent blue. "Then your leaving Minneapolis had nothing to do with the rape trial of Art Fitzpatrick? . . . I do my homework, Ellen. ..."

Or he had it handed to him.

She told herself it shouldn't have mattered. She knew better than to trust either of them. She knew better than to let her guard down.

Then why did you go to the hospital last night, Ellen?

She raised a hand and brushed her fingers across her lips, the memory of his kiss stirring, warm and restless inside her.

"Let's get to work," she said. "I want plenty of rope in that figurative noose."

They settled back into their chairs. Cameron pulled a cookie out of the tub and munched on it as he looked over their list of evidence.

"So, aside from the arrest itself, do you have any idea what Costello is going to challenge?"

"No," Ellen admitted. "And he'll wait till the eleventh hour to tell us, you can bet on that. Speculate, though. What do you think he'll try to get rid of?"

"The gloves. They weren't discovered for days. He'll argue they could have been planted. He'll argue they could belong to anybody, that we don't have proof they're Wright's."

"Good points. So we don't enter the gloves as evidence at the hearing. We hang on to them for trial. By that time we should be able to prove they are his. If we're extra lucky, the snow will be gone by then and we'll find the gun to go with the gloves. Has anything turned up as to Wright having registered a handgun in this state?"

"Nada. Big surprise. I'm checking with Virginia, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Indiana, but maniacal serial criminals tend to think themselves above such mundane formalities."

Ellen conceded the futility of it. "He'd never be so careless as to leave a paper trail. What else?"

He shrugged. "We've got the ski mask, the bloody sheet, Mitch's testimony, Megan's testimony, Ruth Cooper's lineup ID—"

"Which happened b.c.—Before Costello."

"So? Wright had an attorney. It went down by the book. No problem. We've got a hell of a lot more than Costello. His witness list consists of Childs, who we can turn inside out, the neighbor who saw Wright's Saab on Saturday, and Karen Wright. What's she going to say? All anyone's been able to get out of her so far is that her husband's arrest is just a big misunderstanding."

"Good question. No one has ever claimed she's an alibi witness. If Wright was at work at the times the crimes were committed, as he claims, what can she say?"

"That he called her on the telephone!" they said in unison.

They both grabbed the phone records again.

The door swung open and Ellen glanced up, expecting to see Phoebe, her eyes widening instead on Megan O'Malley with Mitch standing right behind her.

"Megan!" she said with genuine surprise. "It's good to see you up and around!"

"And more or less in one piece," Megan said dryly.

She looked like hell. The bruises on her face had reached the putrid-fruit stage. The crescents beneath her vibrant green eyes were the color of eggplant. She limped in, leaning heavily on one crutch. Her right hand was encased in a rigid cast that extended to the very tips of her fingers.

Cameron moved to pull a chair out for her, but she waved it off. Mitch cut her an impatient look that she completely ignored.

"Finding any goodies?" she asked, scanning the papers strewn over the table.

Ellen closed the folder and rose, blocking her view. "Just hunting for tidbits," she said casually. "You know, phone records, that kind of thing. Dry stuff. Are you all set to testify?"

Megan's mouth curved in a nearly feral smile. "I can't wait."

"We're not staying," Mitch said, catching Ellen's body language. "I just wanted to let you know I talked to Hannah about trying hypnosis with Josh. We talked to the psychiatrist and she's reluctant, but she agreed to try it."

"When?"

"Tomorrow. Four o'clock. Her office in Edina. We'll videotape the session, just in case."

"I want to be there."

"I knew you would."

"Have you found anything in Wright's background?" Megan asked. "Any connection to Priest or Childs?"

"We're looking," Ellen said. "Priest and Wright taught at Penn State during the same period. We're checking into it. As far as Childs goes, nothing. We know he went to high school in Oconomowoc, Wisconsin, and that he's willing to perjure himself. We know he's nowhere to be found at the moment. We know someone broke into the Pack Rat last night—might have been Todd, might have been anybody. Wilhelm is supposed to be there right now. The evidence techs are going over the place. Of course, we don't know what they should be looking for, so how can we expect them to find it?"

Megan scowled. "I wouldn't expect Wilhelm to find Waldo."

"The thing is," Cameron said, "it could be just another diversion. One more stunt to make Wright look innocent."

"But wky target a place where Wright's phony alibi works?" Megan's gaze sharpened as the wheels of her mind began to spin. "And why pull this stunt that late at night when it was just a fluke that anyone would happen by and see?"

"So," Ellen speculated, "maybe it was Childs and he sneaked in because he had something stashed there—drugs, for instance—which he grabbed and ran with. In which case your BCA pals are spending a lot of manpower on nothing."

"That's the way it goes," Megan said. "Though I wouldn't want to be in young Marty's shoes when he has to explain that to headquarters."

Phoebe came slinking back into the room. "Agent Wilhelm is on his way over."

"My cue to leave," Megan said. "If Wilhelm catches me here, he'll pop a cork and I'll end up hitting him with my crutch."

Ellen walked her and Mitch to the door of the outer office, sympathy welling inside her at Megan's hobbling gait, and at the proud tilt of her chin.

"You know about the benefit for Wright tonight?" she asked Mitch.

He nodded. "Got it covered. We'll keep an eye on Wright, see who approaches him. If Childs is there, we'll grab him."

"Good. Thanks for stopping in. Mitch, I'll see you tomorrow. Let's keep our fingers crossed that Josh can clear everything up for us. In the meantime, we keep digging."

"The key is Wright's past," Megan insisted. "I wish I could help with that hunt."

Ellen gave her an apologetic look. "You know I can't involve you, Megan. You're not the agent in charge anymore, you're a victim."

Megan's eyes blazed with a hatred Ellen could only guess at. "I know exactly what I am. And I have Garrett Wright to thank for it."

"Ellen's hands are tied, Megan. You know that," Mitch said.

He had stopped by her apartment that morning, fed her two cats, and turned the thermostat up so the place would feel more like a home than like a cold, drafty converted attic—which was essentially what it was. The third floor of a big old Victorian house on Ivy Street, it was probably the least accessible apartment in town. Two flights of stairs to climb with a bum knee and a crutch. He had to clench his jaw to keep from commenting yet again on her stubbornness.

Megan stood by the window in her pink living room, stroking the head of her little gray cat with her good hand, cradling the bad one against her. The set of her mouth was stubbornness personified.

"You're off the case, Megan," he reminded her. He stepped around a pair of boxes she had yet to unpack. Josh had been kidnapped her first day on the job here.

"Officially," she said grudgingly. "But that doesn't mean I couldn't do a little background work off the record—"

"And risk getting the case turned on appeal? You're not thinking straight. Come here," he said, turning her gently toward the old camel-back sofa. "You need to sit down or that knee is going to swell up like a water balloon."

That she didn't put up a fight told him she was as near exhaustion as she looked. She eased herself down on the couch and sat quietly while he pulled a box of books over to prop up her leg.